


Challenge ficlet #4

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts: 'empty phrase', 'jam' and 'imperator'<br/>OTP: surprise OTP, I chose Friedrich<sup>2</sup></p>
            </blockquote>





	Challenge ficlet #4

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on LJ on December 11th, 2006.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.
> 
> Challenge ficlet for entchenmv.

It is ridiculous, really. But he's enjoying it, nevertheless. "It's a wonder Palpatine isn't stumbling over that cloak," Manu snickers, and Arne imagines that he can almost feel the other defender's breath in his ear. Instead, there's just his cell, the plastic cover already warm to his skin, and he chuckles. "Maybe he's holding it up by way of the Force?"

"Must be," says Manu, "what do you think he's wearing under there?"

Arne snorts. "Garters and maybe a thong, what else? Just the thing that befits an imperator of the Empire."

And then he's grinning at Manu's barrage of laughter, lifts up his beer bottle - damn, empty already - and stretches out languidly. It's really too bad that Manu couldn't come, but then, it's not really as if Mayence's just a suburb of Berlin, and so Manu thought this up. Watching Star Wars together, Manu's favourite trilogy (he dislikes the new one), and talking to each other on the cell. It's almost what they had planned for this day, if it weren't for Manu's call a week ago, apologizing and saying that Jürgen - Klopp, Manu's coach - had scheduled an extra training for this afternoon and so he couldn't visit Arne - but then, two days later, a package got delivered to Arne's house. From Manu, and in there was the original trilogy on DVD and a note, saying, "Watch it with me anyway. Manu"

So they still went along with it, and, well, it's almost as good as the real thing. Arne hears Manu munching on something and asks, "What are you eating?"

Manu swallows audibly, "A roll with sour cream and jam, cherry jam, in case you want to know. And there's a cup of cappuccino next to me, too." - "It's one in the afternoon, Manu!"

A chuckle. "Yeah, but this is my free morning, so I can sleep in, training's only at four," the fellow defender says.

Arne nods, before he realizes belatedly that Manu can't see him. "Yeah," he says instead, "and here I am, drinking beer, and there's a pizza waiting in the fridge for me." - "We could call it a brunch, then," Manu says, "I'm doing the breakfast part and you the lunch part."

Arne smiles and before he can say anything about how it's too bad that they can't share their food (even though the mix doesn't really sound healthy), Manu chuckles. "Hey, did you see that? Man, Han Solo rocks."

The Berlin defender raises an eyebrow. Manu has rambled quite a lot about Han Solo already. Granted, Harrison Ford looks rather handsome onscreen, but the movies are more than 20 years old. "Your first crush?"

A short silence, and then he hears a "Caught me," and Manu's snickering. "You just know me too well."

Arne laughs. "So you go for the rogue guys? The ones that flirt too much, disregard any etiquette and are way too cocky?"

"No. I'm going for the guys that are faithful to their friends, who don't leave them in a pinch and are willing to give their lives for them," Manu says, quietly. "And if the guys happen to be good-looking, well, that's just the cherry on top."

Arne smiles. "Thanks, Manu."

"Well, seeing as you're not here, I'll have to make do with Han," Manu says, and then Arne hears rustling. "What are you doing?" he asks, not really out of curiosity but because he wants to keep up the conversation flow.

"It's so much more comfortable when your fly's open, you know," Manu says, almost conversationally, but Arne knows him too well. Manu's eyes will have that special glint by now, the cute dimples more pronounced with the wicked grin. "And now you can adjust yourself, just like that, and it fits perfectly in your hand, and -"

"Fuck, Manuel," Arne groans, "that's not playing nice."

"When did I ever?" the other defender laughs. "Come on, play along."

And this is how Arne ends up with his hand wrapped around his cock, his jeans pushed down to his knees, stroking his half-hard erection slowly, wanting to stake the fire for as long as he can.

"Is it good for you?" Manu asks, and there's a certain breathiness to his voice that Arne recognizes far too well. He closes his eyes. "It is, although it would be much better if you were just here. Next to me."

"Yeah, it would be," Manu agrees, "and what would I do to you, then?"

Arne swallows. "Well... you'd jerk me off, like you do, with rubbing your palm over the head, making it all wet and you'd lick your palm off and then you'd kiss me in that way, when I can't get even enough air to breathe, and then you'd move down to my -"

"nipples, yeah, hard already, and I'd lick them," and Manu's breaths are ragged now, "I'd nip at them, and all the while I'd jerk you off, alternating between hard and slow, just the way you like it, and you'd moan in this - yes, this way," as Arne is actually moaning. Fuck, Manu's too good at this sort of thing. His hand is slippery from the precum and he feels a jitter run through his thighs.

"I'm close," Manu sighs, "too close, and you'd make me lick on your fingers, making them wet, and then you'd slide them down there, behind my balls, and then," the imagery's too _lurid_, too real, and then a loud moan echoes dimly in Arne's ears.

"Damn you, Arne. Why aren't you here," and Manu's panting now, the rustling louder than ever, or maybe it's just that Arne has paused the movie so that the only sounds he hears are Manu's, amplified, "fuck it, I want to fuck you," and Arne closes his eyes at the underlying desperation in Manu's voice, but it spurs on the rhythm of his hand on his cock, and if only his other hand wouldn't have to hold up the phone, he'd use it to finger himself, first one, then two fingers, and - "I want your mouth on me, Arne," Manu groans, "I want your wethot mouth right down here, sucking me off, and I'd grab your hair, bucking up into -"

With a last groan, Arne spills himself into his hand, another spurt lands on his shirt, and then he slumps back onto the couch, breathing heavily, his hand still warmwetsticky and his ears are still ringing with Manu's hoarse moan, "_Arne_," and he knows that Manuel has come, too, right along with him.

"Damn," he sighs.

"Truer words hath not been spoken," Manu replies after a little while, sounding still a bit out of breath.

Arne smiles, closing his eyes. "You poet." He knows that Manu's smiling, too, with the dimples showing that Arne likes to trace with his tongue. The sex - phone sex, actually - was great, but he wishes that Manu'd be really lying here, next to him, so that they could enjoy the other one's presence, and Manu's always so warm. Never an uncomfortable kind of warm, where you always get too sweaty and have to scoot off, but break the desired contact by doing so, and then you shuffle closer again, and... no, it's never like that with Manu. Just warm and comfortable and perfect. And it sucks that Arne can still count the times that they have gone to sleep and waken up together in one bed - undisturbed - on a hand.

"Not a poet," Manu says, "but at least that'd be less embarrassing than writing a cook book."

Arne chuckles. "Still going to rub that into my face?" - "If you provide me with such a set-up... well, there are _nicer_ things I'd like to rub in your face, Arne," Manu laughs, and Arne groans, blushing. Damn. He set himself up for that.

"And Manuel Friedrich's right hook comes out of the blue and it sends his opponent from Berlin right onto the mat, a clean knock-out, you should have seen that, four-three-two-one - yes, and we have a winner! Manuel Friedrich has won the title!"

Arne laughs. "Manu, you're crazy."

The other defender's laugh bubbles up. "You wouldn't want me any other way, would you? Or would you prefer someone like Beckenbauer, spouting empty phrases all the time and being a total bore?"

Arne shakes his head, still smiling. "No, no. I'd rather want a mad, eccentric and sexy defender. One who has a crush on Han Solo and had just phone sex with me and made me come, and who is the best lay I ever had," and then his voice lowers, getting rough, just the way that he knows will set Manu's ears burning, "and who is the best cocksucker in the world."

Silence. That will teach Manu to tease him, Arne thinks with a grin. He wipes his sticky hand on the linen - better remember to stuff it into the washing machine before Linn's back this evening - and pulls the woollen comforter up as it has gotten a bit drafty in here.

"Next time, we're going to watch the movie's end _together_," Manu's voice whispers into his ear, "and without any damn phones and hundreds of kilometres between us."


End file.
